Page 17 of The Comeback
“It’s getting late.” It’s almost ten.
“I don’t mind, and I’ve spent a week lazing around.” He touches my arm so lightly, I barely feel it. “I’d like to join if you want company.”
I’m ready to say no out of habit, but he rocks back on his heels as if nervous about getting rejected. It would be good to have company, and Jihoon has a comforting quality, present but not intrusive. “Sure.”
We head down a small side street. Each step lessens my fear about Dad a bit more. Mom said he’s fine, and she wouldn’t lie. Beside me, Jihoon respects my silence and strolls along looking curiously at the houses we pass. He pauses at one decorated with disco balls along the front porch and turns when I point at the car parked out front inthe street, an old Chevy that’s been bedazzled to within an inch of its life. The steering wheel is lined with fake fur, and a small hula girl bobble figure sits on the dash. “I don’t know if these would be fun or nightmare neighbors,” he says thoughtfully.
We decide against peeking into the front window and move on, slowly creating a story about the house and its occupants. By the time we’ve walked two more blocks, it’s stretched to incorporate a hidden entrance to an underground cavern, spaceships, and a taco truck, and as we try to one-up each other, Jihoon relaxes further. When I stop to create an elaborate sketch, using a stick and some dirt, of the aliens who live in the space taco truck, he laughs loud enough to startle a nearby cat.
“Your aliens are hideous,” he says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and illuminates his whole face. “Here, give me the stick.”
“Yours are worse,” I inform him when he’s done.
He frowns. “They really are. I blame the stick. It wasn’t sharp enough.”
I haven’t laughed like this in a while, and it’s tinged with guilt that I’m enjoying myself while Dad’s in the hospital. Shouldn’t I be lurking in a dark bedroom, feeling morose?
Jihoon glances down at me. We’re under a streetlight, and the shadows play on his face, highlighting the geometric planes and corners of his features. “Ari?” Even his tone seems different, almost softer.
I take a step but stop at the slight pull on my sleeve. All his movements are gentle and precise. “What?” I ask.
“Something is bothering you.”
“Well, my Dad’s in the hospital,” I snap. I can’t help it. The best defense is a good offense when it comes to feelings.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t lift his gaze, and I twist around uncomfortably until it’s clear we aren’t moving until I spill something.
“Being out here is nice,” I say finally, staring at the sky to avoid looking at him. The streetlights block any stars that might be out.
“That’s good. You need to distract yourself.”
I snort. “No, that’s the point. Isn’t it wrong to be having fun when he’s sick?”
“You feel guilty.”
“I guess.”
“What do you think you should be doing instead of this?”
Three dark pines partially obscure the gate in front of the house across the street. “I don’t know,” I say. “Sitting around being sad in solidarity?”
“Would that please your father?”
This makes me laugh. “Only if I’m also working. Otherwise he’d consider it a wicked waste of time when I should be trying to get promoted.”
I start walking again, not wanting to elaborate. Normal people would let it go at this, understanding that it’s a sensitive topic.
Jihoon doesn’t. “He wants you to succeed.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” I get the feeling that I could drape myself in a gigantic red flag to warn Jihoon off but he’d ignore it to get the bottom of something he found important.
We turn left and into a small park. I’d never go there alone at night, but with Jihoon, I feel safe enough to cross through. We walk along the well-lit path to where it branches into a small stand of birch trees. I pause at the fork for a moment before deciding to go straight.
“My parents want the same thing,” he says finally. “For me to be a success. You know my mother and Hana’s are sisters?”
“I did. Are they similar?”
He makes a noncommittal noise, which I take as a tacit agreement. “I grew up in Busan but wanted to do an arts training program in Seoul when I was a teenager. My parents were against it. They wanted me to stay in school so I could get a stable government job that would last my whole life.”
